


Summer Skins

by brilligspoons



Category: Captain America (2011), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Nevertheless, Stiles clatters down the stairs the next morning and eyes Peggy up and down fearlessly, as if assessing his opponent for weaknesses already.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Mommy told me you used to be a spy," he says.</i>
</p>
<p>In which Peggy Carter is Stiles' great aunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Skins

**Author's Note:**

> **fiarra** pointed out how much Hayley Atwell and Dylan O'Brien look alike. This is the result.

The first time Stiles meets his great aunt Peggy, he's five and just finishing up kindergarten, and his mother has just died. Deputy Stilinski, who's desperately trying to hold himself together and raise a child and do his job properly all at the same time, doesn't have the heart to send him off to a summer camp. He thanks Mrs. Whittemore for her assurances that the counselors at the one Jackson goes to are attentive and nurturing, of course, but he knows he'd be getting a phone call to pick Stiles up within a day, two at the most. But the fact remains that he can't be in two places at once, and Stiles is far too young to stay at home by himself. So a day after school has let out for the summer, Deputy Stilinski makes a long distance phone call, and a week later a taxi pulls up in front of their house.

What he doesn't count on, of course, is Stiles being absolutely terrified of Peggy.

"I'm so sorry," he says after Stiles has run screaming up to his room and slammed the door shut. The lock clicking echoes down the hall and the stairs, and Deputy Stilinski winces at the sound. "He's normally very sweet and, uh, personable."

Peggy pats his arm. "Not to worry," she replies. "He's just lost his mother, so I think this sort of behavior is to be expected in this situation. Plus, I remember being frightened of the elderly when I was his age." She winks. "It's the wrinkles, my boy. Scares off the men faster than my pistol used to, back in the day."

Later that evening, she knocks on Stiles' bedroom door and clears her throat. There's a soft _thump_ on the other side, and Aunt Peggy smiles as she imagines the tiny boy throwing himself on his bed and underneath his covers.

"You know, darling," she says through the door, "your mother and I liked to make blanket forts together when she was your age. She showed an amazing amount of tactical knowledge when constructing hers, and it always took me several hours to break down the defenses. I wonder if you wouldn't like to try your hand at it. If you're amenable, I suggest we meet upon the field of battle tomorrow morning at eight o'clock."

She walks away from his door towards the guest room she'll be staying in for the rest of the summer, stopping just short of it when she hears the lock and then the knob turning. She stands completely still while Stiles makes up his mind on whether or not he wants to engage with her.

"What does 'amenable' mean?" she hears him ask.

"Knowing your mother as I did," says Peggy, "I know she would've given you a dictionary at some point. You should look it up and report back to me."

She steps inside the guest room and shuts the door behind her, but not before she hears him kick at the wall and mumble, "I hate it when grownups say that."

Nevertheless, Stiles clatters down the stairs the next morning and eyes Peggy up and down fearlessly, as if assessing his opponent for weaknesses already.

"Mommy told me you used to be a spy," he says.

Peggy nods. "I was indeed, though that was a long time ago," she replies. She observes him over steepled fingers as he climbs onto a chair across the table from her. "Is spying something you young people are interested in these days?"

He shakes his head. "Dad says I'm too noisy to be a spy."

"Well," says Peggy, "spying isn't all about being quiet and sneaking around in dark corners. Sometimes it's simply a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Why don't you and I talk about it while we build that fort, hm?"

They make their blanket forts every morning that summer - at first separately, with Aunt Peggy critiquing Stiles' every architectural decision and systematically ripping through his defenses to demonstrate her meaning (and then soothing Stiles' wounded five-year-old pride with cupcakes and chocolate milk), and then together, transforming the whole first floor of the house into increasingly more complex fortresses that even Deputy Stilinski hesitates to tear down at night. Aunt Peggy has Stiles place his action figures and stuffed animals in strategic locations as lookouts and, when he's not looking, knocks one or two of them down to signal an enemy attack.

In the afternoon, after she's bribed Stiles into doing some of the summer coursework his first grade teachers will expect to be done come September, Peggy tells him (heavily edited) stories about her adventures with Captain America and the Howling Commandos and her subsequent years spying for the British government. Stiles soaks in every word, listening intently with a wide, amazed look on his face. Much to her delight, he manages to retell the stories to his father with minimal loss of detail and a few minor embellishments.

"He's a smart one," she says one night after Stiles has been put to bed. Deputy Stilinski nods but doesn't say anything. Peggy pats the back of his hand. "He's going to be fine, you know. Just like you are."

"He's fine while you're here," he says. "What happens when you leave?"

She shrugs. "He'll get distracted by school, make new friends, learn new things." She looks him in the eye and smiles. "He's not going to forget, if that's what you're worried about. He'll come to you with all his questions eventually."

"And then what?"

She pats his hand once more before standing and walking out of the kitchen. "And then you'll tell him the story about you and his mother," she says. "Something tells me that will stay with him far longer than any wartime adventure."

***

The second time Stiles meets Peggy, his father has just been elected as county sheriff and Scott is being forced to spend the summer with his father four towns over. He spends about two weeks after school lets out moping around the house before he's told to pack up some clothes and whatever books he has to read before school starts up again. Peggy's waiting for him by the luggage carousel in Heathrow Airport. She's sporting aviators and an old bomber jacket and leaning ever-so-slightly on a cane, but otherwise she hasn't changed much in five years. Stiles, of course, has shot up like a weed, thin, gangling limbs evidence of how much more growing he'll be doing in the years to come, but she extends her arms out to him like it hasn't been half a decade since they last saw each other.

"Your father told me you started buzzing your hair," she says. She plants a kiss on his forehead. "It suits you."

"Thanks," Stiles says. He fidgets and bites at a nail, unsure of what to say now that he's here. The flight had been terrible in spite of his dad making sure he had taken his medication right before boarding, and it's taking all of his restraint not to start running around the baggage claim area to rid himself of the excess energy coursing through him. The carousel goes around a few times before he spots his suitcase, and he lunges for it, grateful for the chance to move. When he turns back around, Peggy is watching him with a tiny smile on her face. "What?"

"Nothing, dear," she says. Peggy motions for him to follow her. "I think tea first, yes? You can tell me all about your father's election."

"There's not much to tell," Stiles says as they push their way through the crowds of travelers. "He won. I don't think there was much of a competition. And now he's busy all the time. So maybe there is a competition, just not the one we thought there would be."

"Hmm, I see."

Peggy leads him out of the airport and hails a cab. She directs the driver to a cafe, where she proceeds to order tea and a variety of cakes that has Stiles' eyes widening in anticipation. Peggy replaces her aviators with regular glasses and takes a moment to look Stiles over.

"I suppose you're too old to build blanket forts with me," Peggy says with an exaggerated sigh.

Stiles shakes his head. "Never," he says fervently.

Peggy doesn't live _in_ London exactly, though she had for many years, she tells Stiles on their ride out of the city. Instead, she lives in a quiet neighborhood close to the outskirts where, Peggy imparts in a stage whisper, the most frightening things she has to deal with are the ladies who knock on her door every Sunday morning to ask if she wants to join them for church services. Stiles lets out a sudden burst of laughter before slapping a hand over his mouth, unsure of whether or not he's actually allowed to find that funny.

"You may laugh at my misfortune and misery now, darling," Peggy says. "But I shall be sending you to answer the door this Sunday. Mind you inspect their hats properly as I will be expecting a full report on how ridiculous they are."

Peggy's house is full of intriguing odds and ends, most having once belonged to Stiles' grandparents when they were still alive. On the wall going up the stairs, there are framed photographs of Warsaw, his grandfather's native city, followed by a series of landscapes painted by his grandmother while they were on holiday in Switzerland one summer. Peggy takes them down one by one and reveals a very rough child's sketch of the same scenery behind each of them. Stiles' mother, she explains with a grin, did not inherit his grandmother's artistic skill.

But the thing that grabs his attention most is the longbox full of original Captain America comic books. Peggy laughs and nods her head when Stiles's fingers twitch towards them.

"I had next door's son bring them down from the attic especially for you," she says. "Some might be in less than ideal condition, but they're yours for the taking."

A few days later, Stiles asks, "Do you still miss him?"

Peggy doesn't bother to ask who he means. She nods. He's quiet for a few seconds, leg bouncing as he thinks.

"Did you ever find out what really happened to him?"

"No," Peggy says, "but there's always the possibility that an answer will present itself. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but the future stretches out ahead of us quite far."

"Would you have married him?" Stiles demands. "Is that why you still miss him?"

"I might have. My feelings for him were very strong, and I wanted us to be together. To try, anyway." Peggy takes a sip from her water glass and looks at Stiles over the lip. "I married someone else, though, and I was happy. I miss them both every day."

Stiles taps his fork against his plate. "So there's not just one person, then," he says.

"What do you mean?"

"For people. There's not just one person for everyone."

Peggy reaches across the table and rests a hand over his fist. "It's different for everyone, dear," she says gently. "Just because I found someone else to live my life with doesn't mean everyone will."

Stiles doesn't broach the subject again after that. He seems to have forgotten it altogether by the next morning, though Peggy catches him staring at her, more solemn and contemplative than a ten-year-old should really be, more than a few times. She lets him be, tries to fill the days they have together with as many trips and activities and stories as her old bones allow. And at the end of the summer, she brings him back to the airport and hugs him warm and tight before pushing him to stand in line for boarding.

"I'll try to come next summer," Peggy tells him. She gets a broad, bright smile from him, and then he waves and wanders onto the plane.

***

Peggy dies in her sleep that winter, and a few months later, a box arrives in the mail for Stiles. It's filled with comics and photographs and his mother's childhood drawings, and there's a slim folder with CLASSIFIED stamped across its front. When Stiles flips it open, a pile of newspaper clippings slip out, revealing an old black-and-white photo of a skinny young man glued to the inside of the folder.

**Author's Note:**

> And now to write the follow-up story where SHIELD wants to recruit Stiles and Lydia, and Natasha ends up mentoring them. /o/


End file.
